shells

I have a shell like the T-Rex musta had. Unless they were incubated toothless. Seems unlikely. I've known this for some 20 years or so. I was not too very disturbed by it. It served it's purpose. Other people found it intimidating. As well they should! That was part of the purpose. I was told that Witchcamp would crack me open. NOT! See, I've always taken a BAD view of anyone who thought my shell could be cracked by ANY external event. They were there. Waiting for me to crack. They cracked. Not me. Not the T-Rex shell. I think I felt like if someone was waiting so obviously gleeful about it, that was NOT the time. Mind you, my shell was permeable to the things I needed. Otherwise I would not have changed ever. It, I, knew when it was time to begin to peck, gnaw, open. I have always thought that people who were so worried about my shell ought to be more worried about their own or their lack thereof. But, cracking open it is. Not from any external force but from within, it is time. It has been mentioned, noticed by others whom I consider *safe*. Not gleeful. I have shed more tears in the past week than in the past 30 years. Healing tears. Not tears of rage or selfishness. Not tantrums. Grief. And, apparently, this is the sign to the other humans that I am one of them. That I am not as together as I might appear. I'm not being conceited. It has been spoken that I am so together and sane. I do think I'm sane. (ooh, that could be bad.) But it's nice to have my humaness recognised too.